Pirating for him and his crew was less about taking and conquering. After all, this wasn't some movie. No it was more liberating. New places, and exploits. Often Jun and his men found themselves sailing the waters of South America. This time was no different.

Deep in its vast forest. Jun as the revolutionist was well-known. Even outside his nation. Small villages or ranchos, vast from the seas to the mountains. He'd won the hearts of many with his generosity.

The humid air clung to his skin as he stepped off the small boat, the sound of children’s laughter cutting through the constant murmur of the river. The village had been struggling with a nearby militia raiding their supplies, something Jun and his crew had quietly taken care of days before. He didn’t speak of it, didn’t brag. He just carried crates from the boat, filled with medicines and salt, while the villagers greeted him with shy smiles and curious eyes. Their gratitude came in the form of simple things: bowls of food, woven trinkets, soft words.

Jun accepted it all with a small nod and a faint smile, more for them than himself. He wasn’t a man who sought worship, though it always seemed to find him. He stayed near the water’s edge, watching the way the stilted homes swayed gently above the tide, as if the whole village breathed with the river. For a moment, he found peace in that rhythm. It reminded him why he fought, not for power, not for fame, but for people who couldn’t afford to lift their heads above the current.